Back at the cottage, Robert suddenly remembered what Mrs Crighton
had told him before slamming the door in his face.
"How do you know?"
"Mrs Crighton told me Jessica had hurried up the road looking
flushed."
"Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"
"I forgot."
"But it might be a vital clue."
"Sorry."
Cleo dialled Gary's mobile number. He was still at the
bungalow. Jason's body had been wrapped in foil and put in the ambulance. The
forensic team would need a couple more hours. He could call in at Cleo's
cottage on the way home in a few minutes.
"I'll make coffee," said Cleo. "Robert's just
thought of something."
Blast the man, thought Gary.
“Hasn’t he gone to bed yet?”
“Not yet.”
"Did he warn everyone about Jessica?"
"I’m sure he did.
Don't fuss, Gary."
***
Laura Finch's neighbours would be questioned the following
day, Gary told her. Shirley would deal with it, taking a colleague with her for
support. There would be no fuss, he hoped.
As far as Cleo could judge, the only person fussing was Gary.
“So what's it all about, Robert?" Gary was asking half
an hour later.
"I've just remembered what Mrs Crighton next door to
Laura's place said about Jessica."
Robert told Gary what had happened, apologizing profusely
for having forgotten.
"Actually, that doesn't surprise me. Whatever role
Jessica played in that scenario, she must have been anxious to get away from it."
"So Jessica quite possibly caught a train somewhere,”
said Cleo.
“Or hitched a lift,” Robert suggested.
"That information could be important, Robert. I'm glad
you remembered it."
The sarcasm in Gary's voice did not escape Robert. He was upset.
Cleo covered for him by announcing that she would get the coffee and suggested
that Robert went to bed since he had to get up early. She would drink coffee
with Gary and then send him home.
Gary guessed that Robert was not really enjoying the
situation, but Cleo was revelling in it. He decided to go with the flow. If
Cleo wanted to make love, he would be overjoyed, but not interpret it as a
committal. Her help in the Finch case was just as precious. He needed need all
the help he could get. Murder was not a frequent occurrence in a village like
Upper Grumpsfield, unless you counted the cases of mercy killing and quiet
doing away with unwanted and unloved individuals, none of which could be proved.
The villagers stuck together like blood brothers when the
crunch came, and the police were powerless, but a private person with inside
information was a different matter. He would be foolish not to play the system.
Robert was in an ideal position to pick up rumours and gossip. Cleo would
filter it all and keep anything relevant in mind for future reference.
Robert went to bed. Half an hour later Gary left. They had
been circumspect. There was no knowing if Robert eavesdropped. Gary would meet
Cleo at Roman’s around lunchtime unless there was a hitch.
Sleep evaded Cleo for ages. Her attraction to Gary disturbed
her. She would have to put a stop to it before she was completely hooked.
***
Cleo made a special effort to get up early and cook Robert a
fried breakfast.
"Where would you go if you had to hide, Robert?"
she asked him.
"That depends on what I was hiding from," said
Robert, who was grateful that Cleo had taken the trouble to get up.
"Well, say you were Jessica and had either committed
the murder or witnessed it, were scared out of your wits and had fled."
"In that case I might catch the first bus," said
Robert, rather flippantly. He did not relish quiz games.
"And what if the next bus were not until much later?"
"Then I'd hitch a lift.”
“And if no one stopped for you?”
“Then I’d have to take the first train out."
"But you always have to wait for public transport and you
wouldn't want to hang around."
“Then I'd nick a bicycle and head for the coast."
"Don't make fun, Robert. This is a serious matter."
"I thought you needed cheering up."
"Well, I don't. As far as I can see, the only hiding
places are the woods round here, assuming all the tool sheds are locked, but
that's probably the last place Jessica would hide after what happened."
"Some people leave keys handy for anyone wanting to get
into their property," Robert suggested.
"What about Monkton Priory ruins? Wouldn't that be an
ideal place to hide?"
"Too creepy. You wouldn't catch me round there at night,"
said Robert.
"I agree," said Cleo.
"That didn’t sound convincing,” said Robert. “You are
categorically forbidden to go to Monkton Priory to look for Jessica."
"I don't know if she's there. It's only a theory."
"Your theories turn into practical propositions at the
drop of a hat, Cleo."
"That's not true." said Cleo.
“I’m leaving for the shop now, Cleo, after a splendid fry-up.
I need steaks from the wholesaler and I don’t expect you to get up to any wild
stunts while I’m out.”
“What wild stunts?”
"I know all about your ghost tours at the priory,
remember."
***
What on earth had made him think of them?
***
"OK. What about my ghost tours? You never came on one.
In those days we even didn't know each other except for my buying meat at your
shop."
"But I knew Mr Gibbons. Remember him, Cleo? You scared
the wits out of him."
“Is that relevant now, Robert?”
Robert was nervous.
"I thought I heard something, but I can't see anyone,"
said Robert, looking out of the window facing the back garden.
"Mr Gibbons said he was a ghost hunter. It's amazing
what cowards grown men can be."
"He was quite a good customer. I never saw him again.
You drove him away."
"Did I?"
"Letting him and all the others think the priory is
haunted."
"Well it is."
"Stuff and rubbish, Cleo, and you know it."
"This country is full of haunted houses and ghosts. Why
shouldn't there be any at Monkton Priory?"
"Because there's no such thing."
"The people who've seen ghosts can't all be as mad as
hatters. Monkton Priory is the perfect setting with the perfect history for
that sort of thing."
"You made the history up, Cleo."
"I did not. I
researched it thoroughly. Dorothy helped me."
"She would, wouldn't she? All that rubbish about Henry
VIII and the monks, I suppose. She even wrote the story for the Gazette once."
"We Americans treasure British history and traditions,
Robert."
"More fool you."
"Look Robert. Monkton Priory is officially my property,
even if it is a protected ruin. It was left to me by my father. His grandfather
or was it his great grandfather won it at cards. It's all in the deeds. I'm not
trespassing when I go there. I can go there any time I want to. No questions
asked. But I don't want people hiding there."
"People go there all the time without asking permission."
"But not to hide from the police."
"Tell Gary Hurley to search the place. That's the right
way to go about it."
"But what if Jessica is an innocent victim?"
"They'll find that out."
"And if they just assume she's hiding because she committed
one, or maybe even two murders? They might shoot her on sight," said Cleo.
"The police aren’t usually armed. They don't go round
shooting people here, Cleo. We're not in Chicago!"
"Sometimes I think I was safer there than here."
"I’m leaving. I can't stop you if you've made up your
mind to do something, can I?"
“No. Are you mad at me, Robert?”
"Not really, but your absurd theories are scarifying."
***
Gary phoned just after Robert had left for the shop. He was
curious to hear what conclusions Cleo could have come to since the previous
night. Cleo did not disappoint him.
"If Jessica is innocent she might want to stick around,
but not be seen."
"That's a big if, Cleo, but I'll keep it in mind. I
also have a report from Chris. Shall I read it out before sending it? You may
want to comment.”
“Awesome. Please do.”
“Chris writes: By comparing our collection of fingerprints we
have established that no stranger has been in Mrs Finch's bungalow since she
moved in, so she left the house either alone or with someone she knew. There
were no usable prints at all in Cleo’s office, apart from hers and Robert's, so
whoever put the body in there was wearing gloves. It's impossible to get in and
out of that window without holding on to the window frame."
“Why didn’t they just leave the body inside the window where
it dropped?” Cleo said.
“Now you’re asking,” said Gary.
“I can only think of one reason, and that would be to get
the blanket back.”
”But they could have done that by simply unrolling the
corpse below the window, Cleo.”
“Or whoever was in my office wanted to have a good look
round.”
“I hope they were disappointed.”
“Sure. The data is on a cloud for convenience and it has a
password. I also carry my laptop around. I will only use the computer with the
printer because that’s quicker than hooking up the laptop. Reserve data is on
the external hard disc and that is in my bag when it isn’t hooked up to another
device.”
“Hackers wouldn’t bother about little things like passwords,”
said Gary
“Maybe someone just wanted to ruin my carpet!”
“I suppose people have been murdered for such a trivial
reason!”
“It is not trivial if it means my office is not serviceable,”
said Cleo, dropping Gary a large hint about releasing the property. “"What
about Bontemps, Gary? Is he in the clear?"
"No. While he was in custody we found a few suspicious
items of electronic equipment in his flat and on the shelves in the shop where
he works. On being asked about them, he told us that they were presents for people
and that he kept a stock so that he was ready for all contingencies."
"I hope you didn't believe him."
"Of course not. Some of the goods tallied with products
stolen in big style from a raid on an electronics store in Oxford. When
challenged again, he said friends had given him them for safe-keeping. He would
not budge on that information."
"You've got to hand it to him. He seems to have plenty
of criminal energy to talk himself out of sticky situations,” said Cleo.
"He could have been repeating what he'd been told to.
The Norton brothers don't leave anything to chance. If there were no other fingerprints
in your office, whoever was in there must have been wearing gloves.”
“Betjeman always wore gloves. He would make an ideal suspect.”
“But he would not have the brain to be an option for the sly
Norton brothers assuming they had a hand in the murder,” said Gary.
“Bontemps wore gloves to move refrigerated goods and lift
heavy crates. Maybe you should keep both guys in mind, Gary.”
“I intend to. Bontemps seemed very uneasy at his first questioning.
When we got him in early this morning he wriggled around on his chair and
cracked his fingers.”
“You didn’t get much sleep last night then,” said Cleo.
“I don’t suppose you did either, Cleo.”
“So you got up and hauled Bontemps back in, did you?”
“And he was in a panic. Eventually he confessed about the
paint on the shop window, so you can rest easy about that. The timing with the
writing on Miss Price's mirror was a coincidence. He didn’t even know about that."
“The early bird caught one worm, but we still don't know how
the writing got on Dorothy's mirror, Gary."
"Whoever got into Miss Price’s cottage had definitely
used the key hidden under the little milk crate. She told Shirley that."
"She didn't tell me and she could have been theorizing."
"A trespasser would be bound to spot it immediately,
and presumably did," said Gary.
“A trespasser with a mission,” said Cleo. “Like when someone
breaks into the Tower of London to steal the crown jewels, maybe.”
***
“Anyway, the door key was definitely hanging on the bottle
container the night someone entered and wrote on that mirror, because Dorothy
was expecting the milkman to deliver yoghurt and he always puts it in the
fridge..."
“What a trusting soul you have as a friend, Cleo.”
“… using the help-yourself door key,” said Cleo. “I knew
about the yoghurt, but I did not know that the milkman also had the run of her
cottage in her absence. I’ll talk to her about that, but the more I hear about
the incident, the more I think that the writing on Dorothy’s mirror was just a
badly timed prank, Gary."
"Tell me more! You seem to have theory."
"It could have been the Parsnip kids. I know one of
them was forced to take piano lessons. They might have decided to teach Dorothy
a lesson."
“Surely they wouldn't do that, Cleo."
"I’ll ask them! If they are innocent maybe one of
Dorothy’s other piano pupils did it."
Cleo was enjoying Gary's reaction.
"OK, OK. Do that! Writing on old ladies' bathroom
mirrors is not the way gangsters work. Threats and bullying, even blackmail or
murder, but not toothpaste messages on mirrors," said Gary.
***
"To change the subject: Are the Norton brothers in
custody?"
"We're working on that. Get to Bontemps' shop before
you go to the vicarage. The guy's back at work again since we need to trail him
and perhaps be led to his partners in crime. He said he hardly knew the Nortons,
but his twitching fingers said something different. I'll have to cut you off
now. There's a call on the other line."
“Don’t forget that Bontemps has a garage between the one’s
used by Norton employees,” said Cleo.
“So they do,” said Gary and rang off.
***
While Cleo was on the phone with Gary, Robert had come back
from the wholesalers and snacked a second breakfast standing up. He was now on
the point of leaving again. Cleo did not
wait for him to start asking questions.
“That was Gary,” she said. “Bontemps has confessed to
smearing white paint on your shop window.”
“The little skunk. He’ll damn well pay for cleaning up.”
"I wouldn't put it past him to spread ugly rumours
about your sausages if you do that," said Cleo. “You know how much he
resents anything better than what he sells.”
“He sells the ones I sell to him, Cleo. He’ll watch his step,
in future.”
Somehow the floodgates had opened on that character. It was
only a matter of time till he made an error of judgment.
Mr Bontemps had insisted that people wouldn't pay more than
they had to for anything until they were convinced that Mr Jones's pork
sausages tasted, even if but they were a
lot dearer than the others, so he charged slightly less than Robert for them.
Robert reduced his prices and introduced a spicy sausage he called ‘continental’,
which he refused to sell to Bontemps. Smearing Robert’s shop window with paint was
done out of revenge.
“But they did not keep him in custody. Gary says they are
trailing him to whoever keeps him in petty crime since his shop and flat are
stocked with stolen electrics.”
“Surely Bontemps knows that being set free is a ruse, Cleo,”
said Robert. “Is that allowed, I mean, setting a criminal free so that they can
see what he gets up to?”
“Sure. Bontemps had no choice. Cops don’t send a guy to
prison if he has confessed to a small crime like graffiti and you know exactly
where he is.”
“I wonder if he’s afraid of whoever hires him,” said
Robert. “I’d be terrified that they would come and get me.”
“I wonder if Gary has thought of that angle,” said Cleo. “I’ll
ask him.”
Robert left and Cleo phoned Gary.
“You don’t suppose Bontemps could be assassinated, do you
Gary?”
“Do you mean that someone might take a pot shot at him?”
“Yes.”
“It’s possible, if his so-called friends want to be rid of
him.”
“You don’t seem very worried,” said Cleo.
“What du you suggest, Cleo? 24/7 protection?”
“I’ll go to that supermarket now. Maybe I can observe
something.”
“Do you have time for Romano’s, Cleo?”
“Not really, though I’d like to.”
“OK. Phone me.”
***
Cleo always found it tiresome to have to go to the grocer’s,
known in Upper Grumpsfield as the ‘emporium’.
Mr Bontemps had taken a few large gulps of gin after
returning to work. He was half plastered.
"Anything troubling you, Mr Bontemps?" Cleo asked
innocently.
"Mind your own business. What can I get you?"
“Oops. No offence meant, Mr Goodweather.”
“Bontemps. By Deed-poll.”
Oops, again,” said Cleo.
She told him she would like him to be more civil to her,
whatever he called himself. Being rude to customers was bad for trade, after
all.
"I'm civil enough for dealing with…."
"… a butcher's partner?"
"…with someone who pokes around in other people's affairs,"
said Bontemps.
“Are you doing something illegal, Mr Bontemps? You are on
the defensive.”
“That’s my business,” Bontemps snorted.
"And what or who would that business be, Mr Bontemps? I
didn't tip anyone off, if that's what you mean," she said.
"You told them enough," Bontemps garbled.
Cleo leant conspiratorially over the shop counter. That wasn't
how Gary Hurley had envisaged the confrontation, but it had to be done.
"Mr Bontemps, it's better to be guilty of smearing a
shop window than of murder."
The colour drained out of Bontemps' already sickly pallor. Cheo
resisted the temptation not back away from this smelly individual.
"What?" he said in a small voice.
"Murder. You are a prime suspect, you know."
"Well, I didn't do nothing," Bontemps said in the
accent he used when he forgot to pretend to be French.
"You were fond of Mrs Finch, but she turned you down,
didn’t she?. That's a murder motive in the eyes of the police."
Quite suddenly, Bontemps came out of his drunkenness and
looked really scared.
“How do you know about Laura?“ he gasped.
“You wrote your mother a letter, Mr Goodweather.”
“That’s a lie.”
“What is more, the cops have the letter you wrote to your
mother, Mr Bontemps.”
“It’s a forgery. The old bag is up to all sorts of
mischief.”
“Which old bag?”
“My mother.”
“You definitely wrote the letter, Mr Bontemps. Would you
like to see a copy?”
“No, and I can prove I didn't have anything to do with murdering
Mrs Finch."
"How can you prove it?"
"Because it happened on the day I always go to the
sauna in Middlethumpton and then meet friends for a meal."
Cleo wondered who those friends were.
“But you’d be home to go to bed, wouldn’t you?”
“What’s that to you?”
“Everything, Mr Bontemps, seeing that Laura Finch’s corpse
ruined my new carpet.”
“What’s that to me?”
"Did you tell the police about your friends?"
"They didn't ask."
"Careless of them,” said Cleo. “These friends of yours:
Are they business friends, Mr Bontemps?"
"Some of them are. What's it to you?"
"Nothing, really, except that they might give you an
alibi. Did you ask them to do that just in case?"
"What are you getting at, Miss Hartley?"
"I wouldn't boast about your friends, if I were you. You'll
need independent witnesses to get you out of this jam."
That provoked Mr Bontemps into telling her that the friends
were really his fans. After the Impro theatre show the previous Christmas he'd
been recognized in the street and people thought he was a real actor.
"Did you tell them you were a grocer's assistant?"
"Not in so many words."
"Are you going to?"
"I'll let you into a secret, Miss Hartley. I've been
offered a job at the repertory theatre in Middlethumpton."
"Congratulations, Mr Bontemps. I never would have
thought…."
"Of course, my first part hasn't got any dialogue."
“That's normal for a budding star," said Cleo. "Who's
the character you're playing?"
"Well, actually it's the corpse. I have to lie still
hardly breathing all the way through the first act."
Cleo had difficulty in stifling her amusement.
"Have you started rehearsing?"
"Yes, but don't tell anyone."
"Why not? You should be proud of yourself."
"Oh, I am. I
knew I was destined for better things."
"So why did you have to smear that paint across Robert
Jones’s chop window?"
"To settle an old score, Miss Hartley. You wouldn't
understand."
"Try me, Mr Bontemps. Try me."
"It's damaging my trade to have interference from
certain sources."
"Oh. You mean Robert and the price war with the sausages,
I expect."
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to, Mr Bontemps. In your place, I
would concentrate on proving my innocence of murder."
That was another tactic Gary Hurley would not have approved
of.
"Don't they have to prove I'm guilty?"
"Are you, Mr Bontemps? Are you guilty?"
"Looking for a confession, Miss Hartley?"
What are you guilty of, Mr Bontemps? Murder? Or just
receiving stolen goods?"
"How do you know about that?"
"You should ask me what else I know."
Mr Bontemps was now almost hysterical. Cleo rubbed salt in
the wound by saying "If the cap fits, wear it."
"Piss off."
Mr Bontemps turned tail and went to the back of the shop.
Cleo left him to his own devices. He was desperate. She
hoped he wouldn't do anything foolish.
***
As promised, Cleo phoned Gary to report on her shopping
trip.
“One curious trait of Mr Bontemps' character is his desire
to be noticed. It seems to outshine all the other traits of the little toad. He's
an exhibitionist, and that white paint on the shop window was designed to draw
attention to himself as an up-and-coming stage actor while teaching Robert a
lesson."
"It did, too, Cleo. Draw attention, I mean. Have you seen
the dailies yet?"
"No time, Gary. Not even online. Running errands for
the police is quite time-consuming."
"Ouch for that. Take a look at the some of them."
Cleo moved to her bureau in the living-room and switched on
her laptop. Quite soon she was gazing at the faces of Robert on the left and Mr
Bontemps on the right with the headline “Village Sausage Duel in Full Swing”
between them.
"Robert will be furious."
"He shouldn't be. The photo of that shop window with
its vindictive message is good advertising for Robert. Bontemps does not come
out of it well."
"Meaning bad publicity is better than no publicity?"
"No. Meaning that Bontemps is being exposed as a Meanie.
That's bad for business. His employer will have something to say about it."
“The repertory company in Middlethumpton, Gary. He’s
debuting as a corpse.”
Gary took time to laugh about that.
"I doubt if Mr Verdi will fly in from the Bahamas to
discuss sausages, either," said Cleo. "More likely, he'll fire
Bontemps, which will be convenient, since Mr Bontemps is going on the stage."
"Look further down the article and there's a comment
from the Mayor of Middlethumpton."
"I always buy my sausages at Mr Jones's butcher's shop,”
said Mr Cobblethwaite, who was famous for attending functions where there was a
lot of food and whisky on offer. “They taste better and Mr Jones has even
reduced the price, though as Mayor I am of course entitled to free sausages.."
Quite apart from how much that would infuriate Robert, Cleo
thought the newspapers should write about starvation in Africa or something
more pressing than the price of sausages. She would have to dissuade Robert
from awarding freebies to all and sundry.
"How did the press find out who was responsible?"
"We think Bontemps phoned them when he realized we were
on to him," said Gary.
"The little rat! But his ruse did not have the desired effect,
did it?"
"No, it didn't. What else did you find out from him,
apart from the acting career, Cleo?"
"He confessed that he was settling an old score."
"Oh, was he? And what would that be?"
"For one thing, the sausage war! But basically a grudge
against the whole world. Maybe he really is harmless."
"I don't think anyone is harmless, Cleo. Things can
escalate to the point when a guy like Bontemps might decide it takes more to
put his world to rights than painting messages on windows."
"Bontemps also admitted contact with the Norton
brothers, though not in so many words. He is definitely a receiver for some of
the stolen goods."
"That information will come in handy."
"But he's nervous, Gary. He was even ruder to me than
usual until he realized he was cornered. And he was drunk."
"In his position I think I would be, too. That theatre
venture also sounds macabre."
"He says he has fans. You'd better check them out. They
hang around the theatre he's planning to take by storm."
"He probably means the converted cinema down the road
from the station. He'll make a good stage corpse if he lives to tell the tale
once the Norton brothers realize he’s shooting his mouth. What I'll have to do
now is make sure that Sam and Jam Norton don't get to him first. I doubt if
they will have any scruples about an informer."
"I thought you'd pulled them in, Gary."
"Not yet, but we know where they are. We'd like to
collect more evidence of their shady dealings. They come home to roost in that
courtyard behind your office together with their acolytes."
"Of course, they rent garages there.”
“So you knew that, Cleo.”
“Robert told me and I’ve seen those white BMWs in the
courtyard. Mr Bontemps keeps his old boneshaker there, too, Gary. Mr Verdi lets
him use his garage. But that knowledge won't solve Laura Finch's murder."
"We think the Nortons put the body through that window.
Maybe they saw who did it and were clearing up the mess. That would certainly
make sense if it was Bontemps and Bontemps knew too much about other businesses
run by the Nortons."
"Or maybe they just found the body and routinely
disposed of it. But why in my office?"
"Probably because they knew they could open that sash
window. We now know that Laura Finch was killed in the short tunnel leading to that
courtyard."
”How long have you known that, Gary? Couldn’t you have told
me?”
“The information came through only half an hour ago. You’ll
get a mail. I’ve already sent it. You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I have a mobile, Gary.”
“But you know now, so what’s the problem. Cleo? “
"No problem, except that the search for witnesses will
fall to me, won’t it?”
“Not entirely. But you could ask around. It’s your
courtyard, too.”
“And pre-warn the Norton brothers? You must be joking. That
reminds me of the dead woman I found at Milton's Fashion Emporium last year,"
said Cleo. "You thought then that the Norton brothers were mixed up in it
somehow, didn't you? But you were wrong that time.”
“So we're being a bit more reticent this time. Pulling guys
in that you know are gangsters and then discovering they are innocent of the
crime you thought you had solved is embarrassing."
"But it took at least two to get Laura Finch’s dead
weight through my window."
"The big question is still what she was doing in the
courtyard in the first place, Cleo."
"Searching those garages might produce some clues to
that. Maybe she was visiting Mr Bontemps or even M0r Morgan," said Cleo.
"Always supposing she knew that they used garages there,”
Said Gary. “You rent one of the garages too, don’t you?"
"Yes, it was the one that goes with the office. The
Nortons still have the other two. I don't need a garage and Laura didn’t know
about it, quite apart from the fact that she certainly would not visit me round
that back of the building. She’d accepted my invitation to the opening, by the
way. Mr Morgan uses the garage at the end of the row, I think. I suppose it’s
possible that Laura Finch went there to talk to him in private."
"Why would she do that?"
"She might have hoped to change his mind about the chorus.
Ask Mr Morgan if he went there that day."
"But surely he would not have any reason to kill the
Finch woman?"
"No," Cleo agreed. "But maybe he saw
something. Bontemps may have been in the yard to meet the Norton brothers. I
was too hasty when I said Bontemps was probably harmless.”
“Meaning what?”
“I think Laura wanted to tell Bontemps she was not going to
marry him, always assuming she had ever said yes or even been asked,” said Cleo.
Cleo did not want to think that the little jerk Bontemps
could have murdered Laura, but she now had to face the possibility that he had,
especially if Laura Finch had followed him to the courtyard to tell him to stop
bothering her.
***
"So why did you let Bontemps go free, Gary?"
"Lack of substantial evidence. Without proof, we can't
lock him up for anything. I’m just baffled that Laura Finch could have become
involved with him in the first place. Any ideas on that, Cleo?"
"If she was involved, Gary, and that’s a big if. Laura
used people for her own ends, so she was encouraging his attentions either for
her own amusement or to get him to do something for her."
"Isn't that moving into the realm of fantasy?"
"Maybe. So what about this version?"
"I'm listening."
"Mr Morgan invited her to meet him in the courtyard by
spinning a tale of showing her his car. He would be wearing gloves to protect
his hands from oil. He could have used any number of ruses to get her there.
Laura Finch would certainly be flattered to be asked to pass an opinion on
something. He might have taken a knife along for some ingenuous purpose or
other. But unrequited love has led to countless untimely deaths in the past. Mr
Morgan might not look like a romantic hero, but I’m sure he sees himself as
one."
"Not bad."
“And you can swap Gareth Morgan and Bontemps anywhere along
the line.”
“Not bad at all.”
"Or did Laura Finch witness the Nortons and Bontemps doing
something furtive? Having someone watching them doing illegal deals would
certainly provoke violence in people who tend to solve all their problems that
way. The brothers might have killed Laura with Bontemps watching, then pushed
the woman's body through that window and pushed Bontemps in after her to unroll
her and retrieve the blanket."
“This is almost the stuff that a cop’s dreams are made of,
Cleo.”
"Or it was the other way round, Gary. Bontemps stabbed
Mrs Finch and the Norton brothers helped him dispose of her body. That way he
would be indebted to them. Moving the body away from that window might have
been done in the hope that no one would realize that’s how the corpse got into
the office, or, as you said before, to leave tracks that would lead to him
being arrested for murder. That would have got him conveniently out of Nortons’
way for many years."
***
Cleo also wondered if Mr Morgan might unwittingly hold a
clue to Laura's murder. Who had seen what? She would have to find out. Other
ideas came flooding in. Crime novels did not have that many choices. Surely
there must be a way of narrowing these choices down.
***
"Still there, Cleo?"
"What? Oh yes, Gary. I have to deal with one or two
things now. Talk again later."
"Don't do anything you'll regret, Cleo."
"I won't. I'm going to question those Parsnip kids."
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